CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

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OVER the year, Enoch has developed a dislike for the DADA classroom. He doesn't hate the class, exactly, but the setting itself sets Enoch on edge every time he enters it. Maybe that's the intention, with the dark atmosphere and gruesome paintings, but it's an intention Enoch can't really appreciate. It makes him miss his old DADA classes, in the kitchen (sometimes the garden if the weather was nice), with his mother walking him through them. She had been far more patient than Snape, far kinder.

But, the man did respect his art. That Enoch can appreciate. And, as far as teachers go, his emotions aren't unpleasant; they're dull, as if closed off from him, but he can still sense them. The dark chocolate that rests underneath, the brine and vinegar that comes in small waves, the honey that coats it all but never manages to reach his face. Something akin to the storm he felt in Harry rolls around in the air, the scent of rain coming. But not like Draco's petrichor—this is more of a threat, less pleasant. So, even when the dark man scolds them for not performing as well as he'd like, Enoch can taste the stress behind his words and can't quite bring himself to be as mad as some of the other students are.

"Today, we will be practicing your nonverbal spells. Some of you," Snape sends a purposeful glance to Harry Potter, "Are nowhere near sufficient enough in your spellcasting. Thereforea, this lesson, you will all have an opportunity to duel one another. You may use anything you have learnt in this subject, so long as no spells are spoken. Those that win will move on to duel the other winners; those that lose or utter a spell will have to watch and, hopefully, learn something from those more skilled."

There are some quiet groans from the students around Enoch, not quiet enough to escape Snape's cold stare. Enoch doesn't mind so much; even a year in, learning proper magic in a classroom hasn't quite lost its excitement. Of course, he did plenty of practicals back at home, but it's not quite the same when your partner is a witch with far more skill and experience up her belt. Beating his mother has always been a near impossible struggle, one he's only managed to succeed in once. It's a little easier here, with students around his own skill bracket.

Enoch can't quite tell Snape's method in choosing which students duel who, and in what order. Harry Potter does get chosen early on, singled out because of his decision to whisper to his friends and Snape's very clear dislike towards him. That duel ends within seconds, as a word slips past the Chosen One's lips, deflecting the attack sent towards him.

"Potter, I do believe the point of nonverbal spells is that they are not spoken." The DADA teacher scolds, voice dripping with disparaging venom. The two students are made to sit back down, but there's something stiff in Harry's movements as he does so, a glower on his expression. As Snape chooses his next pairing, the brunet continues to glare at him. Even across the room, Enoch can taste the hint of chilli radiating from him. That hint is enough for him—too much, really—and he moves his focus away.

Enoch's turn is a little after, partnered up with a Gryffindor he doesn't know. Hesitating, not quite wanting to make the first move, he allows the boy to make the first attack. He can sense the sudden attempt, the smell of determination and anxiety. Reflexively, he casts a shield charm; with some careful aiming, the shield charm sends the spell back to the Gryffindor and he stumbles slightly. This gives Enoch the opportunity to take the offensive, stunning the boy. The Gryffindor should have had time to block it--at least, had he been Odeda--but he doesn't and promptly collapses onto the floor. Hardly expecting to be successful, guilt fills Enoch. The brunet hopes he didn't bruise himself.

"Very good, Desrosiers." Snape comments, voice monotone but his emotions betraying the pleased reaction underneath. No matter how dull they might be, Enoch is glad for the unspoken, unintentional praise. The Gryffindor is woken, confused and disorientated, and sent back to his seat with some brief feedback on remember defense is just as important as offense. Enoch is certain he goes back to his seat far happier, even if he still feels a little bad for his partner.

Draco thinks Snape is saving him for last. Maybe he's hoping the blond might somehow, miraculously, increase his skill before he's made to duel. With the skill some of these students—mostly Gryffindors—have shown, he's sure he'll still be better than them even while slacking. Watching them fail, bored out of his mind, doesn't do much to help him.

Enoch's was interesting, however. Not just because he was watching his friend but, likely due to the homeschooling and different teachers, his technique is different to the rest of the students. Each wand movement had seemed a little off, not quite how they'd been taught, but also somehow more fluid. His face, too, betrayed nothing like some of these students do. Maybe it's bias (Draco would never admit it, if it was), but the few seconds it took Enoch to beat his opponent felt like watching a performance to the blond.

The rest, however, were exactly how he expects sixth year students to perform: awkwardly, miserably, and boringly.

Eventually, Snape calls his name. He's put up against a Hufflepuff that Draco barely knows but knows enough to recognise this is an unfair fight. Even out of practice, Draco still outmatches the girl facing him. The only way this could be any more unfair is if maybe he was put up against Potter or Weasel.

The girl, understandably, looks nervous as they adopt their starting stances. Snape calls the start and, in a second, Draco sends his first disarming spell. She manages to deflect this one but her attempt at an attack fails, causing her to fumble anxiously. This is all Draco needs to send another disarming spell and the girl's wand is flying from her hand. Keeping his expression bored, he turns his gaze towards Snape, doing his best to nonverbally ask, "Is that good enough for you?" In the corner of his eye, he can see the girl clumsily trying to retrieve her wand. Another student has to hand it to her, after it rolls away from her fingers. Draco almost feels bad.

Almost.

The second round soon begins with Blaise and Granger. Disappointly, Granger takes the victory and Draco can see the disappointment in his friend's eyes as he turns around. The blond makes sure to send a teasing smirk his way, lighthearted and sympathetic of the complete embarrassment that must come with losing to a muggleborn, but nonetheless teasing. He can't let his friend get away with that.

More duels come and more duels go, with less people taking almost as long as the first round with more evenly matched skills. Eventually, Draco's name is called again.

"You will duel... Desrosiers." Draco hopes his eyes don't grow as wide as he thinks they have. Snape seems to have changed his tune from the last round, now putting him up against someone closer to his skill, maybe even better. The look the professor gives him makes it clear that this is intentional. Likely payback or something.

Enoch's casual position makes Draco question his own, shifting uncomfortably as he waits to see if Enoch is actually going to move. He just stands there, looking oddly happy (though, on Enoch, it really shouldn't odd), with his hands by his side. He even twirls his wand between his fingers once, before Snape tells them to begin.

The first jinx comes from Enoch, taking the blond by surprise; the movement of his wand from at his hip to pointed at Draco comes so quickly he almost misses it. Fortunately, he manages to deflect it, but not before another spell is already sent towards him. Taking the defensive, he deflects spell after spell in Enoch's barrage of attacks. The brunet's wand twirls around him, face determined but otherwise impassive. There's a brief break in the attacks, letting Draco get a few of his own jinxes through. All of these are blocked, one even sent straight back to him. Then the barrage continues again.

Watching Enoch is one thing, duelling him is another. Being on the receiving end of his attacks is, quite frankly, terrifying; his expression and body language betrays absolutely none of his intention, not until the spell has already been cast. The spells are thrown at Draco far faster than he'd like, as he struggles to keep up with his defense. To make matters worse, the brunet is grinning as he attacks Draco—nothing malicious, clearly well-intended, just enjoying himself. When the pair meet eyes properly, not solely focusing on spellcasting, the younger's grin turns into a smirk and he raises his eyebrows in challenge. His tongue pokes through the corner of his mouth, a gesture that could be mistaken for focus but clearly isn't.

It's then that Draco realises the brunet isn't even trying. Not properly. He's just messing with him. This motivates the Slytherin to try a little harder himself, pushing back as much as he can. Enoch's grin only grows wider. Soon Draco can feel the pressure returning, Enoch matching his strength with ease. The blond feels himself breaking a figurative sweat as he tries to keep up.

If he'd been out of practice, this duel might not have been so stressful. But, with the year growing later and later, his focus on the tasks has caused all his subjects to suffer even more than they already had been. So, what he'd usually be quite adept at, he's now closer to average. And Enoch is definitely not average.

Enoch gives him a wink, a fleeting gesture that's enough to catch Draco off guard. He hesitates, unintentionally, oddly flustered. Then, the brunet flicks his wand and Draco feels something restrict him. Ropes twist around him, slithering down his body as his limbs are pulled tight against his body. The sudden change throws his balance off, knocking him to the ground. While he's still trying to recover from the sudden impact, his wand flies from his fingers. Now standing above him, Enoch picks it up easily. As the blond looks up at the brunet, completely tied up, pride and back hurt, he can't quite bring himself to be annoyed. Enoch gives him a smile before releasing him from his binds, still not uttering a word.

"Very good, Desrosiers. A N.E.W.T-level spell but given your previous education, I believe it counts for curriculum." Snape says nothing more, but he does give Draco a disappointed look. There's something more to the disappointment, pointed gaze that clearly takes the victory. Annoyed, Draco slinks back to his seat and glares at the rest of the duels.

Enoch loses his next one, in the final round, but he doesn't seem as interested in this one. His movements seem lazy, distracted, and when he does lose it doesn't seem genuine. He sits back down in his seat with a smile that somehow improves Draco's mood.

"How'd you do it?" Draco asks as they walk to Alchemy, Enoch close to his side. His ferret's head is poking out of his pocket, eyes blinking sleepily.

"Do what?"

"Beat me."

"Oh, the Incarcerous spell. Maman taught me." Enoch responds with a small shrug, as if it's no big deal. Draco's pride still stings a little, though he's unable to hold it against the brunet. His personal pride hurts but a section of pride he didn't know he'd held for Enoch has swelled. He can feel his respect growing. It's like, when he tripped him with the spell, Enoch somehow managed to knock something into place; he really has secured his place as one of Draco's closest friends, both in friendliness and feelings. Maybe even higher than a lot of friends—Draco's not sure, when he thinks too hard it starts to get confusing and tangled. "Maman was always my duelling partner. She wouldn't go easy on me so it was virtually impossible to beat her. I did once, when I learnt a spell in secret and she wasn't expecting me to use it. Then it became a part of the rules to try and trick her with things like that. Didn't happen again."

"You didn't follow the same curriculum as us?"

"Oh, no, we did. We had some guides to make sure I was learning everything you guys were. But Maman would throw in extra things while she taught, that she thought were useful and within my abilities. Sometimes she didn't even realise she was doing it."

"You're something else, Enoch."

"So are you, mon loup." The brunet responds, bumping shoulders with the blond. Draco just chuckles softly, shaking his head. In his stomach, something confused rolls around. He still can't wrap his head around the fact that everything is totally normal; Enoch has, for the most part, not even acknowledge him being a monster. It's like nothing ever happened. Well, something happened. This nickname, somehow, happened. The stupid nickname that, when it flows from Enoch's lips in his odd French, sends the warmth into cartwheels in his stomach. Draco can't help but feel a wall broke down between them. But nothing friendship-shattering happened. It just feeds his paranoia. Soon, Enoch will realise, he's certain.

But for now, he'll just relish the warmth and enjoy the friendship while it lasts.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
It's worth noting the end of chapter 11 (onze) has been edited. It's not a huge edit, mostly just wording and a little bit of the suggestions under the words, but I felt I should let you guys know